


big brother intuition

by LilyElk13



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Bunker Fic, Caring Dean Winchester, Fever, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural) Feels, Nausea, Sick Character, Sick Sam Winchester, Sickfic, Soft Dean Winchester, Vomiting, but dean's a good big brother, not really angst sam's just sick so, sam's not having a good night (tm), uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 16:44:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18996541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyElk13/pseuds/LilyElk13
Summary: Dean can always tell when Sam's under the weather. And if he's being honest, he doesn't really mind spending the wee hours of the morning taking care of Sam if he needs him.





	big brother intuition

Sam jolts to attention as a big hand comes down on his shoulder, and almost knocks all his books off the table. He’s attempting to research some creatures called fuaths, without much luck. 

 

“Woah there, Stu Pickles, don’t lose your books there.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam mumbles, and tries a light chuckle. It must not pass, because Dean lowers his head a little, as if trying to see Sam’s face better. 

 

“Hey,” he continues, returning his warm palm to Sam’s shoulder. “You don’t look like you feel well. You doin’ okay?”

 

It’s been like this, at least in the last year or so that they’ve shared the bunker. They’ve been a little more in tune with each other, a little more willing to admit that they’re under the weather. Hell, they have a medicine cabinet now, not just a box under the backseat of the Impala. 

 

Still, Sam’s got a little bit of a complex that refuses to let him reveal weakness. “Yeah, man. I’m fine. Just been staring at these books for awhile. My eyes are tired.”

 

“Okay. Get some rest in a little bit.” He checks his watch. “It’s almost 1 o’clock. I’m gonna go get ready for bed.”

 

“Mmkay,” Sam replies, going back to his book. Whether or not he wants to admit it, he really is not feeling well. His face feels too hot and he suspects that his cheeks are flushed and pink. There’s also a nagging queasiness that has nothing to do with the anxiety he deals with on the regular. 

 

He sighs, slamming the book closed (after marking his place, he’s not an animal), and stands up to go get in bed.

 

\--

 

Dean finds him three hours later, not in bed, but hunched over in one of the Men of Letters single bathrooms. There’s ones with several stalls and showers as well, communal ones, but both brothers tend to opt for the singles nearest to their respective rooms. They have the locks. And private showers. 

 

Dean just reties his robe a little tighter across his waist and picks the lock to Sam’s bathroom. He can hear Sam throwing up miserably, and he’s not about to leave him alone like that. 

 

“Man, fuck you,” Sam chokes as Dean pushes open the door, spitting harshly into the toilet.

 

“Hey, you wouldn’t open up,” Dean shrugs, moving to the sink and filling up a plastic cup from the sink with some cool water from the tap.

 

Sam holds up a shaky arm as soon as he hears the faucet. “Please, Dean, I can’t right now, it’ll just come right back up-” He breaks off to retch again, struggling to hold his hair off his sweaty forehead and brace himself up with the other arm. Nothing comes up, but it scrapes his throat raw. He lurches farther forward almost immediately, only a dribble of spit hanging off his lip to show for the harsh heave.

 

“Okay, okay, you don’t have to drink it now, but soon, okay?” Dean’s hand comes to rest on his sweat-soaked back as he heaves again. His other one gently wipes tears of exertion off Sam’s cheeks, the pad of Dean’s thumb soft and welcome on Sam’s swollen under eyes. 

 

The hands leave and Sam  _ almost  _ lets out a distressed noise, but before long they're back, and then soft hands are gathering his hair back from his face and tying it into a low ponytail. The thick saliva hanging from his lower lip is wiped away with a cool washcloth. He vaguely registers that Dean’s still talking, just rambling, “-always gotta keep your hair so girly, lookin’ like a damn disney princess-”

 

He can’t appreciate it, though, before the nausea surges again and he’s coughing up bile into the toilet again. 

 

“God,” He wheezes. “There’s nothing left.”

 

Dean gives his spine a reassuring rub. “Yeah, that’s gonna be a problem in a little bit. You think you can take a drink now? We’ll have to see if we can get some Tylenol in ya soon, okay? Your fever’s pretty high, I think.” He palms Sam’s flushed forehead, and Sam attempts a deep breath. 

 

“Yeah… I think I can try,” he mumbles. 

 

“Good boy.”

 

“Not…a…dog,” he struggles. 

 

“I know, bitch. Shut up.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

Sam doesn’t have to look up to know that Dean is smiling. He feels the edge of a plastic cup touch his lips, and he doesn’t even have the energy to be embarrassed that his big brother has to help him with something so simple. He takes a few sips, swallowing convulsively as soon as the liquid hits his rolling stomach. 

 

He groans and lets his face hang in the toilet again. Dean rubs his back but Sam just groans and swallows convulsively again, his throat bobbing as he struggles. 

 

“C’mon bud, if it needs to come up, don’t fight it. I gotcha.”

 

That’s all Sam needs before he’s choking the water right back into the bowl. Dean stays, a firm presence at his shoulder, murmuring a litany of soothing words and reassurances. 

 

“Awh, Sammy. I’m sorry you’re feeling so rough. You musta picked up a bug somewhere.”

 

Sam spits into the toilet. “I’m not feeling… as completely awful, now, at least,” he breathes, but gags again.  

 

“That’s a start,” Dean murmurs again, brushing a strand of hair that fell out of Sam’s ponytail behind his little brother’s ear. “You ready to go back to bed? And do you want a new shirt?”

 

Sam _almost_ cries, but he manages to nod. Dean’s never like this. Never. He’s always hard and cold, only letting a little bit of his softness, his humor, his younger self out at rare, sacred intervals. But here he’s soft and calm. Caring. Wanting to help, to make everything better. Sam sighs. It’s times like this that he thanks God, no matter how much of a douche he is, for giving him his brother. 

 

Sam zones out for a second and the next thing he knows, Dean is handing him a fresh shirt, a soft and grey one, and gently wiping his hot forehead with a cool washcloth. He struggles out of his sweaty shirt and into the fresh one while Dean disappears for a moment. Sam leans his head against the wall that Dean propped him up on and closes his eyes. 

 

Dean’s hands on his face bring him back into reality a little bit. 

 

“Alright bud, I put some water and such in your room, and there’s a trashcan by the bed. You think you’re ready to drink some more water and head back there?”

 

Sam manages a nod, and shakily sips some more water from another plastic cup, swatting Dean away when he tries to assist. Dean chuckles under his breath. Sam must be feeling at least a _little_ better if he wants to do things himself again. 

 

He gets Sam to take a few fever reducers and then all but drags his little brother back to his room and deposits him on his bed. He strokes Sam’s hair back again, releasing it from it’s ponytail so that Sam can lie comfortably. “I knew you weren’t feeling good, were you?” he sighs, gently resting his hand across Sam’s forehead. Sam sighs and mumbles something Dean can’t make out. Dean smirks a little and makes sure his brother is adequately under the covers before rising and leaving to clean the bathroom and go back to sleep himself. 

 

He’s got that big brother intuition. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> enjoy, leave some comments,,, blease,, maybe some kudos,,,,they r much appreciated


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